


September 13, 1959

by deadlybride



Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - High School, Crack, M/M, Malt Shoppes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Completely goofy Psych AU set in the fifties. There are greaser jokes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	September 13, 1959

Carlton Lassiter cruised down the streets of Santa Barbara at the wheel of his 1948 Pontiac Coupe, newly restored to its former glory. He'd fixed himself up for the occasion: put on a clean white shirt, tossing the dirty one he'd used in shop class that day into the passenger seat. His leather jacket shone.

He was ridiculously proud of his work on the automobile. He'd spent the entirety of the spring semester of junior year working on it, but had just been able to finish when school reopened the week before. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, pulling his comb from his sleeve and slicking a few stray hairs back into place.

He turned down State Street, which was nearly empty at four-thirty in the afternoon. He was just pulling up to the intersection at Lamont Street when an odd rumble from the engine prompted him to pull over. He'd been working on the car for seven months – just the thought that something might be wrong nearly gave him heart palpitations.

This car was his baby. He'd slaved over it, combed every inch of the paneling to be sure that not even one scratch marred the baby blue paint. He had shined every piece of chrome that graced its exterior, buffing any metal on the interior until it gleamed. Heck, he'd even polished the radiator cap.

As he rolled to a stop at the intersection he turned the key in the ignition as gently as he could, cutting the engine. He didn't want to chance damaging the car if something was actually wrong. Anyway, this part of Santa Barbara was deserted at this time of day. He wouldn't be bothering anyone by taking a quick check under the hood.

He swung the door open. Before his leg was even out, though, a blur of motion impacted the door, hurling him back onto the seat as a sickening crunch met his ears.

The first thought that flew through his mind concerned the safety of his car. This thought soon evaporated, however, as he sat up and saw a green Schwinn bicycle, or what was left of one, teetering precariously on top of the door. The seat dangled against the window, the front tire bent horribly out of shape, spokes twisted and sticking out at odd angles.

A moan issued from somewhere in front of the car. Edging out past the broken bike, Carlton saw a crumpled figure in what looked to be a torn letterman sweater, prostrate in the street. The body dragged a hand out from underneath itself, trying to push up to its knees. "Ow!" A sharp breath hissed out before the body collapsed, dropping to its chest.Carlton ventured into the intersection, grabbing the body from under its arms and pulling it up to a standing position. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an oncoming car and heaved them both backwards, fetching up against the hood of the Pontiac as the other car sped past, honking. He finally felt able to release his iron grip on the heaving ribcage, but as soon as he did the kid slumped forward, letting out a pathetic  _oof._ He caught the thin shoulders, turning him around.

Carlton was about to inquire about his well-being before a thought struck him, and he frowned. "You ran into my car!"

Enormous eyes turned up to him, shocked. "Your car ran into me!" he countered, poking Carlton's chest with one finger. Then he winced, cradling his hands to his chest. The dirt filled scrape running down his right cheek added to the pathetic picture. His eyes flicked quickly over Carlton, settling on his face. "Hey, you're Carlton Lassiter, that senior."Any accusation in his voice had drained away.

Carlton frowned at the kid, straightening and grabbing his comb. "And you are?" he said, slicking his hair back into place.

The kid flashed him a disarming smile, sticking out an abused hand to shake. "I'm Shawn Spencer. Sophomore."

Carlton grimaced but reached to shake anyway, good manners triumphing over his recognition of the name and just how uncool he knew him to be. His firm grip made the kid to snatch his hand back with a hiss, cradling it and turning an accusing glare on Carlton. He nearly apologized, but stopped himself in time.

Shawn smiled, for some reason, but then frowned. "Where's my bike?"

Carlton winced. "Well…" He didn't want to look as the kid dodged around him and the door to stare at what remained of the bicycle.

He eased it away from the door as Carlton came around to reassess the damage. It was worse than he'd first thought. The front wheel had twisted grotesquely, but, worse, the front fork was bent sideways, ruining all hope for a quick fix.

Shawn turned his face up to Carlton. He was taken aback to see an actual flash of pain there before his jaw firmed. "There is only one way for you to make this up to me, Carlton Lassiter."

Carlton took a step back as Shawn stood, eyes locked on his face.

"You have to take me to Moe's and buy me a chocolate shake." He took a step closer, voice deadly serious. "With extra whip cream. And two cherries."

***

Carlton drove down the main drag toward Moe's Malt Shoppe, hoping none of his friends would happen to drive past and see him. He had an injured Shawn Spencer vibrating in the passenger seat and a mangled mint green Schwinn in the back.

He hated mint green.

"This is a pretty neat car," Shawn said, bouncing on the other end of the bench seat.

"I know." He glanced over. "Don't scratch the leather."

Shawn stuck out his tongue, but the fidgeting did slow.

When they pulled to a stop at Moe's, Shawn immediately flung open the door. Carlton winced when he jumped out and slammed it behind him. When he didn't get out, Shawn popped back into the window, leaning his elbows on the door. "Are you coming, or what?"

A few curses queued on Carlton's tongue, but then he caught a glimpse of one of Shawn's palms. The scrapes hadn't quite scabbed over yet, but he could see where dirt had caked into the mound at the base of his hand. Shawn blinked, cocking his head.

Carlton sighed.

It was something akin to torture, walking into the malt shop behind Shawn. As soon as he pushed open the door a chorus of greetings rose from the kids inside – followed quickly by a wave of confused silence when they saw Carlton's tall figure coming in behind. He didn't fail to notice that each group boasted at least two pastel letterman sweaters, each of the girls resplendent in huge poodle skirts and bobby socks. He glanced around, following Shawn up to the counter. His was the only leather jacket in sight.

"You're really late, Shawn!"

Carlton froze. He hadn't mentioned they were meeting someone here. A short black kid and a pretty blonde had both turned on their stools, glaring and grinning at Shawn, respectively.

"Sorry, guys," Shawn said, shrugging and beaming.

The black kid's jaw dropped when he actually looked at his friend. "What happened to you?" he demanded. The girl frowned, too.

"I was on my way here twenty minutes ago, honest," Shawn started, looking earnest. "I was going as fast as I could down State Street when this tiny old lady started crossing the street with her three little puppies." Carlton frowned, looking down at Shawn. "I was going so fast, I didn't know if I'd be able to miss her – and then the puppies started barking and running all over the place, and the lady started yelling about how they were going to miss  _Lassie_."

His friends were engrossed, both leaned forward on their stools, eyes fixed on his face. Carlton almost opened his mouth to refute the story, but Shawn didn't stop talking, scraped hands joining into the animated, completely false retelling.

"I nearly froze, but I knew I couldn't run into the nice lady – or her little dogs! They were real neat, like Scotties, I think – but, anyway, I had to think really fast. I swerved as fast as I could and ran into the sidewalk, and I flew off my bike and ran into a tree!"

"Oh, wow!" the boy said, a hand flying up to cover his mouth.

The girl grinned. "You flew into a tree?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Jules, you shouldn't make fun of injured people. Look," he said, offering his scraped hands for inspection. The boy seemed far more concerned than the girl, though she did offer a sympathetic look.

"So…" The boy tore his eyes from Shawn's injuries to scan the sidewalk in front of the diner. "Did you walk here, then?"

"Of course not, Gus, don't be a fruity gumdrop." Here, Shawn stepped backwards, grabbing Carlton's arm without looking and dragging him an unwilling step forward. His friends' attention snapped to him, instantly, and he tried his best not to look surprised. "I was just picking myself up when Carlton here happened to stop. I asked if he could take me home so I could ask my dad for a ride, but he offered to drive me to meet you guys! Isn't that neat?"

They turned surprised, admiring looks on Carlton. He shrugged, trying to unobtrusively retrieve his arm from Shawn's grasp.

"Oh!" Shawn said, smacking a hand against his forehead. "Ow!" He shook the abused hand for a second, but turned back to Carlton, not distracted. "This is my best friend, Gus, and Jules, his girlfriend. Guys, this is Carlton. He's a senior."

Gus pushed his glasses up his nose, nodding at Carlton. He nodded back, uncomfortable. Juliet stuck out a hand to shake, though she was glaring at Shawn when she said, "I'm Juliet O'Hara, and I'm my own person, thank you very much."

Shawn tugged Carlton's sleeve, bringing his ear down to mouth level. "She doesn't like getting introduced as property," he stage-whispered, as Carlton shook Juliet's hand.

She stuck her tongue out at Shawn. Carlton raised his eyebrows, but Shawn just laughed.

"Real nice of you to give Shawn a ride, even if he is a goof," Gus said.

"Hey, he's not leaving!" Shawn said. He hadn't released Carlton's arm, his grip tightening around the sleeve of his jacket. "I invited him to have a shake with us."

Juliet and Gus glanced at each other. Carlton could feel a blush rising, embarrassment twining with anger that two sophomores might reject his company. He yanked at his arm, trying to get Shawn to let go, but then Gus swiveled back on his stool to get Moe's attention and Juliet smiled at him, suddenly shy. "They got a new strawberry shake," she offered.

"I usually get vanilla," he said. She shrugged, twisting around to grab her own pink shake. When he looked down Shawn was grinning, turning a bright look on him.

"Moe! Can I have a chocolate shake and a vanilla, please?" Shawn said, pulling Carlton up to the bar. He jumped onto one of the two available patent-leather stools, finally letting Carlton go in favor of elbowing Gus out of his counter-space.

Carlton stood behind the last seat, uncertain. Shawn glanced back at him. "Do you want a cherry?" he asked, smile undimmed.

Juliet giggled at something Gus muttered, and Shawn elbowed him again, not looking away from Carlton's face.

"Two," Carlton answered. Shawn nodded, leaning forward to amend the order to the bustling, amiable Moe.

Gus leaned over his back. "You'd better protect those cherries," he explained. He poked the back of Shawn's head. "Bozo here'll try to steal them."

Juliet nodded as Shawn reared back, nearly knocking Gus off his stool. "I do not steal cherries!" he exclaimed. He turned his back on his friends, who were both now stifling laughter. "Okay, I do sometimes," he said, turning a mostly-earnest look on Carlton. "But I couldn't take yours, because you rescued me."

Behind Shawn, Juliet was shaking her head, mouthing, 'don't trust him,' at Carlton. He couldn't stifle his grin at their antics. His friends were older, and definitely cooler than these sophomores, and were more likely to go out for illicit booze than malts – but they also didn't have this much fun, that was for sure.

Moe deposited the two glasses on the counter in front of them. Shawn started to turn away, but Carlton said, "I think I can protect my own desserts." Shawn glanced at him, with an uncertain grin that morphed into shock when Carlton snaked a hand out and neatly plucked a cherry off his chocolate shake.

"Hey!" he said, as Carlton dragged the suddenly unburdened stem out from between his teeth and Gus and Juliet whooped with laughter.

"That'll teach you to run your bike into trees," Carlton said, dropping the stem onto the counter.

Shawn rolled his eyes, another grin rolling onto his face. "I'll get you next time," he retorted, dragging his shake close and rescuing the remaining cherry. He bit off the fruit with a horrible grimace, which Carlton ignored as he picked up his own glass, stirring it with the long straw.

"Sure you will," Carlton said.

Shawn brought an enormous spoonful of chocolate ice cream into the air between them and waggled it back and forth. "You be careful," he said, eyes sparkling. "Gus can tell you, I don't mess around. You might get a shake down your shirt."

"That was one time, Shawn!" Gus said. "Stop bringing that up!"

"It was funny, though," Juliet said. Gus turned on her, and she smiled, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "It's okay, Gus, you're cute with ice cream on your head."

***

It was almost six o'clock when Carlton pulled up to Shawn's house. It was a fairly standard two-story on the boardwalk drive, not very far from Carlton's own house.

"I hope my dad's not home," Shawn said, shading his eyes with one hand as he peered at the house.

"Why's that?" Carlton asked.

Shawn turned and grinned at him. "The real reason I was late? I had to wait 'til he left to sneak out."

Carlton smacked his palm to his forehead. "Are you serious?" When he dragged his hand away Shawn was still smiling, not repentant in the least.

"It's okay, I won't tell anyone you kidnapped me or anything."

Carlton gave him a look. "Thanks a lot." Considering how casual Shawn seemed to be with the truth, he didn't feel at all reassured.

The sun was sinking fast down the western sky, making the colors in the yard stand out with startling vividity and highlighting Shawn's hair with gold when he turned, glancing into the backseat. His bike was still as pathetically mangled as before, but he didn't seem nearly as concerned.

"Will your parents get mad about the bike?" Carlton asked, following his eye-line.

Shawn paused, looking uncertain for the first time that afternoon. "Um – I'll tell my mom about the puppies, and she'll cool my dad off."

"Don't forget about the old lady."

Shawn brightened. "Wow, thanks! I almost forgot that part."

Carlton shook his head, and Shawn cracked open his door. The ice cream seemed to have mellowed him out, because he was actually careful when he lifted the Schwinn out of the backseat, making sure the dangling parts didn't scrape the paint on the Pontiac.

"So…" he said, dropping back down to the front seat after he placed the bike safely on the lawn. He wasn't really looking at Carlton. "See you at school?"

He frowned, thinking. His friends would probably have a few things to say if he started hanging out with a bunch of sophomores – and preppy sophomores, at that. But Shawn turned, and looked right at him, and Carlton didn't have the heart to shut him down. "Sure, I guess I'll see you around."

Shawn smiled, looking suddenly shy. "Okay, neat."

He put a hand on the door, about to get out, but then paused. Carlton raised his eyebrows, about to ask, but then Shawn darted forward, eyes closed, and pressed a quick dry kiss to his cheek.

"Thanks for the ride!" he called, already halfway across the yard when Carlton managed to pick up his dropped jaw.

The front door banged shut.

Carlton sat there in the Pontiac, both hands locked on the steering wheel. Shawn Spencer had just kissed him, on the cheek, in the middle of the street.

He shook his head, turning the key in the ignition. He could almost still feel the faint, warm impression of his lips on his cheek when he pulled away from the house, heading east toward his neighborhood. It had been, undoubtedly, a strange afternoon.


End file.
